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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770478">I don't know how to do this without you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna'>tillyenna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Consensual Infidelity, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:27:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc-Andre always carefully plans his heats for the summer, when he is away from his teammates and Vero can get him through them. Nobody planned for playoffs in august. Marc-Andre has only ever slept with his wife, and now his team management are leaning on him to use one of the alphas on the team to get him through his heat. There's only one of his teammates he trusts with this.</p><p>This is part of our hockey discord rpf collaborative a/b/o playoff heats universe :D</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marc-Andre Fleury/Jonathan Marchessault, Marc-Andre Fleury/Veronique Fleury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I don't know how to do this without you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please note, the consent in this is EXTREMELY DUBIOUS. Because whilst verbal consent is given, Marc-Andre doesn't WANT to consent, which means it isn't really consent. He's pressured by management to do it, and it's a really shitty situation.</p><p>Please also note that they're speaking french through all of this, because why would they speak english? But I'm not writing it in french, because I'm lazy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Marc-Andre has never been more glad for the ruling that they all get their own rooms, as he surveys his room in the Marriott, the place that will be his home for the next few weeks at least. He’s done his best, unpacked his things, got his photographs of Vero and the children out, still, there’s one more thing he has to do before he can really relax. He lets himself out, and pads down the corridor, before knocking on Marchy’s door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s open.” Calls the voice from inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets himself in, “Only me,” he switches instantly to French – they might always follow the unspoken rule of English only when they’re with their teammates, but when it’s only them, it seems a little pointless – that and Marc-Andre doesn’t really want anyone overhearing what he’s about to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Settled in?” Jonathan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little,” Marc-Andre shrugs, and throws himself into the chair by the bed, “I’m feeling twitchy,” he can’t bring himself to meet Jonathan’s gaze, “My heat is due soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Jonathan stops unpacking, sitting down on the bed, “I forgot that you’d probably be planning it for round about now.” He reaches out a caring hand to rest on Marc-Andre’s thigh, “What’s the plan? They can’t fly Veronique out no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury shakes his head. “No,” he admits quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re going to have a shitty few days with a lot of dildos then?” Jon’s still teasing him, his tone light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Marc-Andre finally brings himself to meet Marchy’s gaze, “The team want me to find an Alpha here to get me through it, so it doesn’t affect my play too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Jon swears, “They can’t do that. You and Veronique have always been….” He waves his hand, trying to think of the word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Monogamous?” Fleury shrugs, “We are. And ok, they can’t make me, but they made lots of noises about being the kind of person who puts the team first, and being the kind of starter goalie they know I am.” The thinly veiled threats had been obvious – if he wanted to keep his position, he needed to do as they’d asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Jonathan swears, “Any thoughts on who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre doesn’t blush, but it’s a close call. “There’s a reason I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Jon pulls back, sitting up on the bed, “Me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc shrugs, “You’re one of my oldest friends on the team, and you understand a little – you have a wife and family too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the same,” Jonathan sighs, he’s an Alpha, but his wife Alexandra is a beta – and she’s never been particularly bothered by monogamy – he’s had a ‘road agreement’ for as long as they’ve been together. “Alex and I aren’t like you and Veronique.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Marc-Andre sighs, “Because no-one is like me and Vero, but I trust you more than most.” He looks down, “If you’re uncomfortable with it, I can find someone else.” He’s not sure who – if they’d been in Toronto he’d have had far more options, but here, there’s only Jonathan he can think of. “You don’t have to help me.” He insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I will,” Jonathan reaches out, cupping his cheek softly, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his other cheek, “I’d be honoured to my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Marc mutters, uncharacteristically quiet, “I’ll see you at dinner, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Jonathan grins at him, trying to alleviate a little of the tension, to bring a little of their sparkling goalie back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a message from an unknown number later that night, it doesn’t take him long to work out who it is however.</span>
</p><p> </p><table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>You promise me you’ll take care of my boy. V</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>Of course. I care about him too.</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>And I’m sorry they’ve done this to him, and to you. To both of you.</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>I’m so angry I can’t breathe</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>Don’t tell him that</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>He has enough to worry about.</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>I promise I’ll keep him safe – and you can call any time to check on him</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<p><span>Thank you Jonathan. You’re a good man.</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jonathan manages to forget about it for the next few days, while they settle in and continue with their training camps. He has the luxury of forgetting about it he supposes, whereas Marc-Andre must have it as every second thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His teammate catches him by the arm at breakfast one morning however, “Today, I think.” He mutters quietly in French.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need me now?” Jonathan asks – this won’t be the first time he’s helped a friend through a heat, but everyone needs something a little different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre shakes his head, “I’m not going to practise today, but it shouldn’t hit until later. Go to practise, and do your usual day, just come find me after dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan nods, and then, darting forward, reaches up to press a kiss to Marc-Andre’s cheek. “You’re ok Flower.” He says with a confident grin, “I’ve got you, and I’ve got your wife on speed dial, no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury blushes at that, “I’m going to go call her now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to focus on the ice, and part of him feels that he should have ignore Marc-Andre’s wishes, and skipped practise to be with him, but this whole thing feels like a lot of people have ignored Marc-Andre’s wishes, and Jonathan doesn’t want to be another one. He notifies the trainers, and lets the coach know that neither of them will be available for the next couple of days – it’s expected, and every team is dealing with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to dinner, fully planning to sit with his other teammates while he eats, but he can’t shake the feeling of wrongness at leaving Flower on his own, so he grabs two plates, filling them up, one for him, and one for his goalie, before heading up to Marc-Andre’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s me.” He calls, balancing both plates in one hand to knock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s movement from inside, and then Marc-Andre opens the door, he’s wrapped in half the bedding from the enormous hotel bed, and he’s sweating. He already looks unsteady on his feet, and Jonathan reaches out to wrap an arm around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought you dinner.” He says softly, switching easily into French.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre whimpers and turns away from him, heading back to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know Flower,” Jonathan pads softly over to him, holding out the plate, “I’m not who you want, but I’m who you’re stuck with right now, and you can’t tell me she wouldn’t be telling you to eat too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earns him a petulant little pout from his teammate, but Marc-Andre reaches out and takes the plate, pulling it towards himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first part of dinner isn’t so bad, but as they start to finish their food, Jonathan notices that Fleury is starting to shift uncomfortably on the bed, rubbing himself against the bedding in an effort to gain some sort of pleasure from it. “Sweet boy,” he can’t help himself from cooing, pushing both their plates aside and crawling over to bracket Marc-Andre’s body with his own. “Do you need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury glares at him, “No.” He mutters sulkily, turning away, it’s the first thing he’s said since Jonathan arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t sulk,” Jonathan teases him, reaching down to press kisses along his neck, “You and I both know that this is what we agreed to – the quicker you give in, the easier it will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre gives a little huff of displeasure, but then, tentatively, reaches out with the tip of his tongue, and flickers across Jonathan’s scent gland, causing a shiver of pleasure to run through the Alpha’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See,” Marchy grins down at him, “I’m here, and I’ll get you through this,” he returns the favour, letting his tongue lave across the point where Marc-Andre smells the strongest, sucking lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never…” Marc-Andre’s hands go to his hips, “I’ve been with Vero since we were children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never been with anyone else?” Jonathan pulls back, “I promised her I’d take care of you you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre grins, “She’s very possessive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m honoured,” Marchy grins again, laying down with his full weight, pressing Marc-Andre into the bed, “Honoured that the two of you aren’t going to kill me for this.” He presses a kiss to Fleury’s collar bone, “But how about you let me in this bedding?” He tugs at the sheets, still wrapped tightly around the goalie’s lithe form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Marc-Andre shucks the extra layers, revealing that he is in fact, completely naked underneath. He glares at Jonathan, half daring him to say something, “Clothes are uncomfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course they are,” Marchy coos, it’s patronising he knows, but there’s something about Flower when he’s like this that makes him want to treat Marc-Andre like he’s far more delicate than he actually is. “How about I catch up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury nods, but then averts his gaze as Marchy pulls his t-shirt over his head, standing up to rid himself of his sweats and his underwear. He’s already hard, he’s had a cute omega writhing underneath him and the room is filled with the intoxicating scent of Fleury’s heat, so it’s hardly surprising. Once he’s completely naked, he presses himself against his teammate again, and feels Marc-Andre heave a sigh of relief at the skin contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See,” Jonathan murmurs into his skin, “It helps, me being here.” He presses kisses into every inch of Fleury’s skin that he can reach. “Tell me what you want, tell me what would help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre flushes a dark red, he finds himself unable to meet his teammates gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now,” Marchy whispers, “You can’t be shy with me, not if we’re going to get through this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury looks at him, and then away again, burying his face in the pillow as he admits, “I want your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You going to let me taste you?” Jonathan grins against his skin, kissing him again, this time letting his mouth drift lower, kissing his way across Marc-Andre’s chest, licking and sucking at his nipples, a grin spreading across his face as it makes Fleury gasp and whimper. He lets himself slide further south, mouthing at the side of Marc-Andre’s cock, licking and sucking briefly before he continues his journey downwards. He nips lightly at his teammates buttocks, watching as he spreads his thighs apart welcoming Jonathan in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moan that Marc-Andre gives at the first swipe of Marchy’s tongue across his hole is nothing short of sinful. “Please,” he moans, “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all the encouragement that Jonathan needs to dive in enthusiastically, licking enthusiastically, his tongue flickering in and out of Marc-Andre’s wet pulsating hole. He manages to slide his thumbs in, tugging at his rim so he can thrust his tongue further, deeper.  Every movement seems to draw more moans from Marc-Andre, make him writhe under Jonathan’s ministrations, soft swear words being drawn from his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More,” Marc-Andre begs eventually, “More please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan grins up at him, his face still wet with the goalie’s slick. “Do you want my knot sweet boy? Want me to put my cock in you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre whimpers, “More.” Is all he manages to mutter, verging on incoherent with his desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Jonathan pulls back, reaching over to grab a condom from the pocket of his discarded pants, “I’ve got you.” He lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against Marc-Andre’s slick entrance and is moments away from pushing in when Marc-Andre speaks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it,” Jonathan pulls away, physically, it’s hard to stop at this point, but emotionally, he wouldn’t do anything that Marc-Andre didn’t want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never…” Fleury reaches up and wraps his arms around Jonathan’s neck, burying his face in the Alpha’s chest, “I’ve never had anyone but Vero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can stop.” Jonathan promises him, “There are other ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need it,” Marc-Andre sobs, bucking up into him, “I need it so badly.” When Jonathan looks down at him, there are tears running down the sides of his face. “I need her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to call her?” Marchy suggests, “It’s not perfect, but you could hear her voice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Fleury whines, thrusting his hips so his slick hole rubs against the head of Jon’s cock. “I need you now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok baby,” Marchy says softly, reaching out to stroke his hair, “Would it be easier from behind? So you don’t have to see it’s me?” It makes him feel sick to his stomach to offer, but this isn’t about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Marc-Andre shakes his head, “You’d still smell wrong,” he admits, before wrapping his legs around Jonathan’s waist, “Just get it over with.” He turns his face away, so he doesn’t have to look his teammate in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s torture, and Jonathan hates himself for doing it, hates Marc-Andre for asking it of him, hates their management for insisting it had to be this way, but most of all, hates his biology for the fact his cock is still so very fucking into this. He pushes inside Marc-Andre slowly, inch by torturous inch, not wanting to push him, not wanting to hurt him, even as he wants to take him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moans of pleasure that come from the depths of Fleury’s throat are a direct counterpoint to the tears streaming down his face as he stares off into the distance, refusing to look Jonathan in the eye. “Harder,” He moans, “Marchy please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan nods, lowering his body against Marc-Andre’s, pressing his forehead against his collarbone, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the heart break on his friend’s face. He picks up the pace, thrusting harder, feeling his knot swell as soon as he gets a decent rhythm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Marc-Andre swears through gritted teeth, “Knot me Marchy, knot me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan presses a kiss to Fleury’s neck, and then another, and then loses himself in the taste of his teammate, his tongue running up and down his neck, sucking and licking as he forces his knot inside of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Marc-Andre reaches down a hand to stroke at his own cock, but he’s shaking and writhing too much to do it properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” Jonathan moans, squirming his hand between the two of them to wrap around his friend’s cock, stroking in time to his short brutal thrusts. “Come on Flower,” he whispers, “Come for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut tight, more tears leaking out the corners and Jonathan gallantly pretends not to hear the soft “Vero” he utters as he spills between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan moans a little, his thrusts speeding up as he blankets Marc-Andre’s body with his own, he sucks on his teammates neck, letting the sweet taste of Omega heat push him over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Marc-Andre swears, tiling his tear streaked face back in pleasure as Jonathan’s knot brushes up against his prostate. He starts writhing, working himself on the large Alpha cock, dragging every inch of pleasure from it. He loses himself for a moment in it, and then, when Jonathan drags his lips against Marc-Andre’s bond-mark, a sob takes him by surprise. “I miss her.” He admits to his teammate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to call her?” Jonathan offers. They’re tied together, and honestly he can’t think of anything more awkward than calling another omega’s bond-mate whilst said omega is sat on his knot, but if that’s what Marc-Andre needs, then he’s willing to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre nods, and reaches for his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jonathan grins, and then, with a little effort, flips them around, so Marc-Andre is straddling him, pushing him up to sit upright – he’s still sat on him, ass still tight around his knot, but it allows him to facetime his wife without Jonathan being in the shot. He tosses his teammate the phone, and then tucks his hands behind his head, smirking up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re enjoying this.” Marc-Andre glares down at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cute little omega, squirming on my knot?” Marchy teases, “Of course I’m enjoying it. Now call your wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre does as he’s told, and Vero accepts the facetime request before it has a chance to ring twice. She’s in bed, her hair falling around her face, she’s wearing one of her silk nightgowns and Marc-Andre feels himself clenching at the thought of the feel of it against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” She smiles, graceful as always, “How are you doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you,” The tears have started again, embarrassingly, rolling down his face against his will. “I can’t do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Jonathan there?” She asks, “Am I on speakerphone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s inside me,” Marc-Andre admits, with his characteristic giggle, “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vero growls a little, and then grins, “You’re my good sweet boy Marc-Andre,” she tells him, “You did what you were supposed to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he tells her, “I wish I could have you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet boy,” she murmurs, “You’re doing so well, you’re doing beautifully for me. I can see you working yourself on his cock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan grins to himself, because she’s not wrong, the circles Marc-Andre is making with his hips must be translating into the camera movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you put your hand on your own little cock for me Marc-Andre?” She suggests, her voice like liquid honey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury blushes dark crimson, but does as he’s told, wrapping one hand loosely around his cock, jerking himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a minute, Jonathan lies there, just watching him, he’s no idea what Vero is doing on the other end of the line, and he’s not overly interested in it regardless, other Alphas really don’t do it for him, but it’s doing it for Marc-Andre, and that’s what’s important, and he watches his teammate rocking back and forth, rubbing his knot up against his prostate, with a smile on his face. When Marc-Andre starts to get frustrated, the hand that isn’t holding his phone alternating between stroking his cock and reaching up to rub over his nipple. Jonathan sighs, and reaches out to take the phone from him, holding it out at arm’s length so it isn’t any further from him, but he has both hands free to touch himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on,” Vero’s voice comes through the line, coaxing and loving, “You can come for me baby boy, you can pull another orgasm out of that tiny cock of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre sobs, one hand on his cock, and the other pinching his nipple, and cries his way through his orgasm. “I love you.” He moans, “I miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know love.” Vero murmurs softly, “Now, I need you to get some rest. Call me after bedtime tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre lets out a little sob, “That’s nearly a whole day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Vero says sternly, “But if you call me during the day, the girls will want to speak to their Papa, and I don’t think you’re in any state for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury nods, and agrees. “After bedtime then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be free by eight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre frowns, “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was telling Jonathan,” she says with a laugh, “You look after my boy M. Marchessault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, the first time he’s spoken since the phone call started. “I’ve got him.” He waits until Marc-Andre has put the phone down before slowly pulling himself out of his teammate, his knot finally receded enough. “Here,” he hands over a Gatorade. “Drink this before we sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleury downs the entire bottle, he’s exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to just collapse, but he knows it’s important to keep hydrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Jonathan says softly, pulling Marc-Andre down towards him, “Do you want a shower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre shakes his head, they’re going to get messier yet, it seems pointless, and whilst they’re covered in sweat and come he’s feeling more comfortable than he has since his heat started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Jonathan man handles him so Marc-Andre can bury his face in his neck, breathing in his scent. He presses a kiss to the top of Marc-Andre’s head, “Wake me when you need me again, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They manage to snatch a few hours of sleep before Marc-Andre wakes them both up by rubbing his erection against Jonathan’s thigh, signalling the start of another round.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more hours of sleep later, they fuck again before Jonathan declares that he needs breakfast, and calls for room service. It’s a brief respite, but while they dig in to their respective omelettes, the juice quenching a different kind of thirst from the one they’d been sating before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Marc-Andre says quietly, a wry smile tugging at his lips, “I know it’s not easy for you, being here with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d do anything for you,” Jonathan says softly, “I might not be in love with you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not my friend Marc-Andre, and I care for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It might not have seemed it at points last night,” Marc-Andre confesses, “And I might not be able to say it again soon, but I am glad you’re here, and I am glad it’s you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan draws him in for a sweet kiss, “I’m glad you felt you could ask me.” He murmurs, “I’m glad too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They call Vero again that evening, but overnight, Marc-Andre’s heat breaks, and he wakes up, sticky and uncomfortable. “I need a shower.” He moans, it might be three in the morning, but he honestly doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ditto.” Jonathan rolls out of the bedsheets, grimacing at them, and heads towards the bathroom. The shower isn’t big enough to fit the two of them comfortably, but given how close they’ve been over the past few days, he honestly doesn’t care, and he drags Marc-Andre in after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He indulges himself slightly, persuading Marc-Andre to let him wash his hair, enjoying the little sounds of delight that come from his teammate as he massages his hands into his scalp. It takes a few minutes and a lot of scrubbing before they’re both thoroughly clean, and they’re both exhausted as they stumble back out into the room. Jonathan takes one look at the stained, crunchy, filthy sheets, and grabs Marc-Andre by the wrist. “Come on,” he tells him, “We’ll spend the night in my room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, there’s no one about in the corridor to comment on the two of them walking around in just towels, hair still damp from the shower. They fall into the clean sheets of Jonathans bed with synchronised sighs and within minutes, they’re both asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard, to drag themselves out of bed in the morning for team breakfast, but the whole point of Jonathan helping Marc-Andre through this was so that he could get back to the games as soon as possible, so they do, ignoring the whistles from their teammates as they sit down at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have fun?” Statsny asks with a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan’s not sure which one of them it’s aimed at, but he flips his middle finger up regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marc-Andre shrugs, leaning into Jonathan’s side, “The things I do for you boys,” he mutters softly, taking a swig of his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch,” Jonathan grins at him, “Sorry it was such a chore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not as pretty as my wife,” Marc-Andre reaches up to pat his cheek, laughter dancing in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan hums, but he’s glad, because Marc-Andre teasing him means they’re back to normal, that what’s passed between them hasn’t put a dent in their friendship. He raises an eyebrow at Marc-Andre, “You’re welcome.” He says dryly. “Last time I let you ride my cock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s laughter from around the table and the tension is dispersed, but Marc-Andre catches his eye, and gives him a little private smile, and Jonathan can’t help but return it.</span>
</p>
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